No Rain
by WolfeyKitten
Summary: "And I don't understand why I sleep all day, and I start to complain that there's no rain. And all I can do is read a book to stay awake, and rips my life away but it's a great escape." Spamano. Hetalia. WWII.


_A/N: Super short (I tried really hard not to make this idea an epic that I would never be able to finish) oneshot I did to the song "No Rain" by Blind Melon. Please listen to that song because it's really good. This oneshot is also heavily inspired by George deValier, so if you haven't already sold your soul to him then I suggest you give his veraverse a read._

_"And I don't understand why I sleep all day, and I start to complain that there's no rain. And all I can do is read a book to stay awake, and rips my life away but it's a great escape." Spamano. Hetalia. WWII._

.

Lovino rested his head on his crossed arms, his mouth cracking into a tiny smile. His nose just barely brushed the cold glass of the window as his eyes focused from his own reflection to the rain coming down outside. The pitter-patter of the raindrops splattering into his tomato garden drummed softly at the edge of his awareness, lulling him into a cat nap. His eyelids flitted as he watched the puddles outside gather rain, one of the pastimes that often occupied his plain life.

And plain was fine.

Lovino inhaled deeply. He couldn't fall asleep yet, Antonio still wasn't home. His eyelids pulled heavily, almost closing once or twice before he looked at the clock on the wall behind him. 4:30.

He slumped back down, fully aware that his boyfriend wouldn't be home for another hour or two, so maybe he could take a tiny little cat nap…

No, he mustn't. If Antonio came home and Lovi was sleeping, he wouldn't receive his routine kiss or be able to tell him that he loved him once again. He wouldn't be able to tell his carefree Spanish boyfriend how the tomatoes were doing, or ask him if he got home safely in the rain. No, sleeping would just not do.

Lovi decided to peel himself off of the cushion he was nesting on in the built-in nook by the window. Maybe he should start dinner? He knew how much Antonio loved it when Lovi cooked for him. Lovino could hear his voice now.

_"Ahh, Lovi, you didn't have to do this! Gracias, mi pequeño tomate~"_

And then Lovi would definitely reply with something cold or rude, but then the Spaniard would laugh it off like he always does, still fully aware that Lovi loves him more than anything in the world… more than he loves his tomatoes or the sun that gives them energy, more than he loves the Italian countryside or the beautiful home they worked so hard to obtain. More than he loved the dream that he and Antonio had finally achieved together.

Lovi decided that yes, dinner was in order. Right now it was the only thing that could keep him from falling asleep.

He stepped carefully to the kitchen, his footsteps seeming so loud in contrast of the quiet pitter-patter outside.

In the kitchen there was a huge shelf that lined the back wall. That shelf contained hundreds of homemade noodles. Lovino smiled at the collection, spaghetti, linguine, fettuccine, rotini, lasagna, you name it, they had it. Despite the vast collection, Lovino had already decided that he was going to make ravioli. He knew it would take a long time to prepare, but it was worth it for Antonio.

There was some dough already made in the refrigerator, so he started with that. He kneaded it, rolled it, and smiled ever-so-slightly as he worked. Cooking was one of those things that made him visibly happy, especially when no one was around to watch him. He took his time, preparing a cheese filling, cutting, and finally stuffing the ravioli. When he looked up from his little fragrant masterpieces, it was nearly 5:30. Wow, Antonio would be home soon. Lovi still had enough time to cook up a fresh sauce, though.

.

By the time six o'clock rolled around, Lovino was gently spooning the finished creations into two separate bowls when he heard the door open.

"Lovino? I'm home!" Feliciano's voice called from the front door and Lovino stepped around the doorframe of the dining room to see his little brother.

"Lovino? What's that smell! It's amazing!" He was removing his dripping raincoat and placing it on the coat rack beside the door. his auburn hair was a little wet, but it wasn't too bad.

"Where's Antonio?" Lovi asked, innocence in his voice.

Feli's face fell slightly, but stayed cheery nonetheless. "Would you like to go see him after dinner?"

"But… I made him dinner. If we eat it now then that bastard will go hungry. Where is he?"

Feliciano's eyes were sympathetic. "We could go see him now, if you want to."

"Please."

Feliciano grabbed the coat that he had just put on the rack and put it back on. "Dinner will be cold when we get back," he noted.

Lovino didn't answer as he put his coat on as well.

.

Antonio's favorite place in the whole wide world might just have been out there under that oak tree. This was were Antonio taught Lovino how to play the guitar. Where he spent hours on end laying in the sun before the war started. Even during the war, Lovino spent time curled up in Antonio's arms listening to the distant sounds of chaos and uproar and fresh tales of death and destruction in Spain, Antonio's home. Lovino remembered those tales for the first time in a while as his knees made impact with the soggy ground and he draped his arms over the cold, hard stone of Antonio's grave.

_Oh. That's right,_ Lovino thought, _Antonio's been dead for years._

He didn't cry. He'd spent all of his tears for a lifetime. All that he could do now was lean against what he had left of Antonio, nothing but hard stone and green grass and beautiful red and yellow flowers under an oak tree out on a hill.

The scenery was almost as beautiful as he was, and the oak tree fought almost as hard as he did as its thick branches reached high into the sky, its grey trunk impossibly smooth with the exception of the silly little marks that each has a history. Lovino's wet eyes strained through the rain, his eyes knowing exactly where to look to find his name crudely carved next to Antonio's beautifully carved name. The memory was laced with sweet nostalgia in his mind, the day they carved their names in that oak tree was one of the best days of his life. Hell, every day spent with that impossibly beautiful Spaniard was the best day of his life. His eyes fell back down to the gravestone that supported him. Lovino ran his fingers over the Italian lyrics engraved there.

_"And if I die a partisan_

_You must bury me under the shadow of a beautiful flower._

_And all the people passing by will say "What a wonderful flower!"_

_This is the flower of the partisan_

_Who died for our freedom."_

_Antonio Fernandez Carriedo_

_1914 - 1944_


End file.
